


Even Broken Things Can Be Beautiful

by MissBarbieAnne



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Comfort, Emotional Abuse, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Major Warnings, Physical Abuse, Self Harm, abuse tw, self-harm tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 15:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13743747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBarbieAnne/pseuds/MissBarbieAnne
Summary: TRIGGER WARNINGSPROCEED WITH CAUTIONDO NOT CONTINUE IF EASILY TRIGGEREDThis is set in the past, when Loghan and Benson were younger (both 18).





	Even Broken Things Can Be Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> Major Warnings: Self-Harm, Physical Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Verbal Abuse

We were late.

I kept glancing at the clock on the dashboard, watching as the “:” blinked with every second. Each second that passed, I just imagine him getting angrier.

It was 12:11AM, and even though I did not have a set curfew, there was always repercussions if I set foot in the house after midnight. I just hoped he was already asleep by the time I came through the door.

Benson seemed to notice my anxiety and he placed a hand on my thigh.

“Hey, are you okay?” He asked, his green eyes shining in the darkness of the car.

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t tell him how afraid I was of going home. I couldn’t tell him that getting out of the truck and walking up the front steps was going to take every ounce of willpower I had. I could not allow him to think there was anything wrong. We had made it nine months without him suspecting anything was wrong, and I planned to keep it that way.

So I just smiled. “Everything is fine. I’m just tired.”

He seemed satisfied with the response even as I picked at the strings of my hoodie, biting my lip as I stared out the window.

12:16AM we rolled up to my house. I noticed the lights were on and my stomach dropped.

Benson leaned in and grabbed my hand. “I had a great night,” he whispered into my hair.

I flinched, but if he noticed, he did not say anything.

“I did too,” I said, leaning over to unbuckle my seatbelt.

I knew Benson was expecting a goodnight kiss. I could see it in his eyes. But my stomach was so knotted up I thought I was going to be sick.

He leaned back, eyeing me carefully. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nodded a little bit too enthusiastically. “I’m sure.”

To prove it, I leaned over and gave him a small peck on the lips before grabbed my bag.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I told him, hopping out of the truck and landing on the asphalt. “I’ll text you later.”

Benson had long since stopped trying to walk me to my door. I could not risk him seeing us together. So for now, he just waited outside my house until I was inside.

With shaking hands, I turned my key in the lock before pushing the door in. I gave Benson a wave goodbye before sliding into the house.

I pressed my back against the door and listened. The light in the doorway was on, as well as the light in the kitchen and hallway. I could hear him moving around in the kitchen, slamming a glass down a little too hard and the sound of liquor filling the same glass. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. If I was quick and silent, I could slip right past the kitchen and slip into my room undetected. But the house was small, and getting past the kitchen would be difficult.

I hung up my bag on the hook by the door and counted to three.

If I ran, it would grab his attention, so instead, I just walked fast. The carpet cushioned my steps as I slunk against the wall, trying to be as small and unnoticeable as possible.

It didn’t work.

“Loghan.”

Ice ran down my spine and my mouth went dry. I turned to face the kitchen and saw him standing there. He was leaning against the counter, a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels behind him and a glass in his hand. As he stared at me, he brought the glass to his lips and took a swig.

“Hey, Dad,” I tried my best to fake smile.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” His words were already slurred and his eyes glassy.

I picked at the hem of my sweatshirt. “I was out bowling with a friend… I’m sorry I’m late. The game ran long…”

“Stop mumbling excuses and get your ass over here!”

I obeyed, watching my feet as I walked, clenching my fists so hard that my nails dug into my skin.  I kept walking until I was right in front of him, so close I could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Now _where_ were you?” His voice was enough to make my skin crawl. His words were laced with venom and I saw his eyes darting over my face.

I forced myself to look him in the eyes. “I was at the bowling alley with a friend.”

“Which friend?”

“Lila,” I lied, but I kept my face straight.

“Hmmm,” He considered this, and for a moment, I thought I might get out of this without consequence.

He grabbed my arm so suddenly, I didn’t process what was happening until his fingers were already digging into my skin. I flinched as he pulled me closer until our noses were almost touching. I could see the flush of intoxication on his cheeks and feel the warm air of his breath on my skin. His eyes were dilated yet still hyper-focused on mine.

“So, you think being out with your friend is more important than respecting me and my rules?”

“N-No!” I stammered, shaking my head and hoping he would release my arm soon. It was starting to ache.

“You live under my roof! You _will_ respect me and be home at a decent hour! Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“You think you can do whatever you want!” He boomed, and instead of releasing my arm, he dug his fingers in harder. “You think you are all grown up now and don’t have to respect me!”

I shook my head, letting out a small whimper as I tried to release his grip. “That’s not true.”

His grip loosened slightly and I ripped my arm out of his fingers, but then I found myself stumbling backwards as I fell to the floor. The linoleum of the kitchen floor was not kind to my bottom, and I flinched as my tailbone made contact.

He towered over me now and I was swallowed up by his shadow.

“So now you’re calling me a liar?”

I didn’t speak. I knew how this was going to go. Saying anything was just going to make this worse.

He reached down and grabbed my other arm, pulling me up so hard and rough I heard my shoulder pop. I bit my lip to stop myself from crying out in pain, and ended up biting through the skin. I could taste blood, but ignored it.

He slammed me against the wall, his face inches from mine, one hand still strangling my arm and one at my neck, forcing me to look at him.

“You are _nothing_ ,” He said, words coated with ice. “ _You_ are _nothing_.”

I choked on a sob, but kept my mouth shut.

“You can go around and fuck with guys and be a fucking _whore_ , but just remember you are _nothing_ and they will _never_ care about you. You are damaged, _broken_ , and no one likes broken toys.”

_You’re wrong!_ I wanted to yell, but I kept my mouth shut. He always said cruel stuff when he was drunk but maybe… maybe he was right this time. What would my friends think if they knew about all this? What if they knew the real stories behind the bruises and cuts and black eyes? What would Benson think?

_He can never know. He can never find out I’m broken._

I sagged under his grip, and he released me. I sunk to the floor and he smirked, spitting on the ground beside me.

“Don’t you ever disrespect me again, Loghan. You know what happens.”

 

With what energy I had left, I escaped into my bedroom. I slipped out of my clothes, examining the dark red marks on my upper arms that would most definitely be bruises in the morning. Tomorrow would definitely be a long sleeved kind of day, even though it was supposed to be nice weather.

I had to hide this. I had to hide the bruises and the pain and act completely normal for Benson tomorrow. He was coming to pick me up at nine, and Dad would most likely still be asleep. Even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t remember tonight. He never did.

But Benson would remember. If he saw the marks and the bruises, he would ask me what had happened and I would have to lie. But I couldn’t lie to him. Benson always saw right through my fake smiles and cover-ups. He was just smart enough not the push.

I knew that was going to end. Eventually he would grow tired of the lies and pry the truth out of me. And I could not have that happen, not when there was too much at stake to lose.

I sat on the edge of my bed, digging my nails into the palm of my hands as I tried to focus on breathing, but the task was becoming impossible. I could feel the panic starting the settle in as all feeling left my body. Whether it was a defense mechanism or something else, I knew this feeling all too well. My body went numb, shutting down after an event like this. My mind dissociated in an attempt to protect itself. I tried to focus on breathing as I continued to dig my nails deeper into my skin until I broke through and could feel the blood. The pain helped me stay grounded, but it wasn’t enough.

I took a deep breath and stood up, trying to keep myself focused on reality and not let my mind slip away into itself.

It was hiding where it always was, in the far corner of the drawer under a couple pairs of socks. The blade was small, about the size of my thumb, but it was more than enough.

I lowered myself to the ground, leaning back against the dresser as I sunk the blade into the skin right below my elbow. I did not need it to be deep, just enough to shock my brain back to the present.

As I drug it across, my neurons slowly reawakened, but it was still not enough. I still was not feeling enough. I dropped down about half an inch and drew another line under the first one, each one about three inches wide. Beads of blood welled up on my skin, trickling down my arm but I ignored the feeling.

By the third cut, I had broken out of the trance. I blinked, glancing down at the blade where I still had it pressed against my skin. I set it down on my knee, looking over my pale skin that was now streaked with red.

It was not the ideal way of dealing with the attacks, but it always brought me back.

With a shuddering sigh, I stood up on shaking legs and put the blade back where I kept it.

Then I collapsed on my bed, too exhausted to even take off my clothes and change into pajamas. My body was shutting down, the stress and adrenaline slowly trickling away and leaving my body drained and empty.

I nestled under the covers, the blood from my arm soaking into the sheets as I closed my eyes and passed out.

 

A loud beeping woke me up, my vision blurry as I tried to blink the fog away. When I finally realized it was my alarm, I frantically grabbed my phone and turned it off.

When I glanced at the time, I realized the alarm had already been going off for eight minutes.

“Shit,” I groaned, rolling onto my back and rubbing my eyes.

That’s when I noticed the blood, and remembered everything from the night before.

My blood ran cold as I stared at the cuts on my arm. I could barely remember putting them there, but then again, I never did.

I laid in bed for a while longer, staring at the ceiling as I recalled the night before.

I always made myself remember. I needed to remember.

I could not let myself repress what had happened. I deserved to know what had happened, so that maybe I could prevent it from happening again.

It was getting closer to nine, and I still needed to shower and get dressed before Benson got here.

For the first time, I was actually regretting making plans with him.

My body hurt, my head hurt, and my arms were aching.

I thought about canceling, but I knew he would be concerned.

He had already been suspicious last night, and I could not risk him coming here to check on me.

I just had to suck it up.

Before I got into the shower, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, looking at the fingerprint-shaped bruises that were scattered on my arms. They were already dark purple, curling around my arm in a way that was all too obvious about the cause.

Today was definitely a hoodie day.

 

There was only one problem with wearing long sleeves today: it was supposed to be 74 degrees out and we were going to be outside for most of it.

Benson wanted to go to the Saturday Market and then walk along the Riverfront. Which sounded amazing when he asked me to go last night. But now, I was dreading it.

I pulled on the thinnest sweatshirt I owned, checking in the mirror to make sure there were no bruises peeking out that I missed, but everything was covered.

My phoned buzzed as I sat back down on my bed, and I opened up the text.

_[Are we still on for today?]_

I remembered I had never texted him like I had promised.

_[Yeah. Sorry, I woke up late.]_

_[No problem. I will be there soon_ _☺_ _]_

I didn’t text back. Panic was already beginning to bubble up in my stomach and I was trying to push it down. Today was going to be a good day. I just needed to spend time with Benson so I could laugh and relax and try not to focus on last night.

Benson picked me up ten minutes later, and I easily slipped out of the house as Dad’s snores filled the house.

He glanced at my attire when I slid unto the front seat.

“Are you sure you won’t be a little warm?” Benson asked, his brows knitting together.

I shrugged. “You know I’m always cold.”

Benson’s face relaxed a little bit as he pulled away from the curb. “That is true.”

 

The first couple hours were fine. It was still in the sixties as we meandered through the tables at the Saturday Market, looking at all the little trinkets people were selling. As always, it was huge and going to every stand was time-consuming. It was crowded, people swarming us from all directions and I held onto Benson’s arm and tried not to freak out. I did not do well in crowds, and with being so on-edge already, I felt like I was about to lose it.

Benson noticed, and he pulled me out of the crowds and toward a bench on the outside.

I sat down and held my head in my hands as he rubbed my back.

“I didn’t expect it to be so busy,” He said as his hand his hand up and down my spine. “We don’t have to go back if you don’t want to.”

I shook my head. “I just need a minute.”

My head was spinning and my arm was stinging. I wanted to rub it and I knew I needed to wash it off, but I couldn’t risk someone seeing the cuts if I went to the bathroom. I couldn’t risk Benson seeing them.

“Okay,” Benson whispered, continuing to rub my back. I know he meant it to be relaxing, but it was just putting me on edge even more.

“Can you… can you stop?” My words shook, but he removed his hand. When I looked up at him, his face was puzzled.

“Loghan, are you alright. You seem… jumpy.”

I tried to smile, but it fell short. “I’m okay. Just… too many people.”

Benson obviously wasn’t convinced. “You’re sweaty too. Are you sure you don’t want to take off your sweatshirt?”

“No,” I said a little too quickly. “I’m fine. I promise.”

Benson did not say anything. We sat on the bench in silence, his hands in his lap and mine supporting my head as I tried to dull the ringing. This was not going how I had hoped it would.

Fifteen minutes passed, and I still could not move. I felt like I was frozen to the spot, and the feeling was starting to drain from my body.

_No…_

I wanted to cry. This could not be happening here.

I begged my mind not to shut down, but the numbness continued to spread.

_Stop it!_ I internally screamed.

Panic coursed through my veins and my breaths started coming in short bursts. I couldn’t catch my breath. I was hyperventilating before I even had time to catch myself.

Benson moved beside me, but I barely even noticed.

I thought I heard him say my name, but I could not respond.

I was staring at him, but I could not see him.

I felt my body move as he shook my shoulder, but still nothing.

I needed my blade.

I dug my fingernails into my skin, harder and harder to try and compensate. It wasn’t enough.

A sob escaped my lips.

Everything afterwards was a blur.

 

When I finally came out of the fog, I realized two things. One, I was in the front seat of Benson’s truck, and two, I was not wearing my hoodie.

I blinked a few times, wondering if maybe I was imagining things. Maybe I was still on the bench, and this was just my brain putting me in a safe place.

But I could feel the fabric of the seats and the smell of sandalwood was too real to be in my imagination. I was really here. I was really here, and my arms were bare, and the cuts and the bruises and everything I was trying to hide was now exposed. I had never felt so vulnerable.

“Loghan?”

I froze, moving my eyes to see Benson sitting in the driver’s seat. The truck was still in park, and the air conditioner was blowing on high. I shivered slightly and I watched as Benson reached over and turned it down.

_My arms are bare… he knows. Oh God, he knows…_

I studied him. He looked different. When he moved, his limbs were stiff. His face was hard, his eyes dark as something shadowed them.

He was mad.

He was mad I didn’t tell him before.

He was mad I didn’t tell him I was broken.

I couldn’t help it. The tears started falling, trailing down my cheeks as my body shook and sobs tore from my throat.   
My body curled up on itself, and I wrapped my arms around my knees, pressing my face against my legs and just wishing I was anywhere but here.

When Benson got out of the truck, I wasn’t surprised. He shut the door and I was certain he walked away. Which was fine; I had expected him to anyway.

But then he came to my door, opening it up and pulling me out from the seat. He held me against his chest, my face buried into the fabric of his shirt, and he sat down on the pavement and cradled me in his lap.

Why was he doing this? He should just take me home and leave me there. I wanted to tell him that, tell him to leave me and run as fast and as far as he could. He did not need to be with someone who was so damaged, someone so broken. He was somebody and I was nothing. He deserved so much more.

I sobbed harder and he pulled me close.

“Shhh,” he pressed his lips to my hair. “You’re okay. I got you. I got you.”

It took what felt like forever for the crying to stop, and by the end of it, I was exhausted. Any energy I had was gone and all I wanted to do was curl up on the ground and disappear.

But Benson was still there. He was still holding me in his arms, gently rocking back and forth as the occasional sob escaped my lips and the tears dried on my face.

I balled my fists in his shirt, wanting to keep him near but knowing I would have to let go soon.

“Better?” He asked, using his thumb to wipe away a couple stray tears. His eyes had softened since earlier, but I could still sense he was tense.

I nodded slowly, biting my lip and trying to push away from him. My arms would not cooperate.

“You… You don’t have to stay,” I murmured, trying to keep my voice from breaking.

Benson looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Just take me home,” I finally managed to break away, crawling out of his lap and using the handle of the car door to pull myself up. “Just take me home and then you don’t have to see me anymore.”

“Wait, Loghan, what… What are you talking about?” He pushed himself off the ground and dusted off his pants. “I’m confused. You aren’t making any sense.”

“I _know_ what you’re thinking!” I cried. “It’s okay, I understand.”

Benson shook his head. “Well, I don’t understand.”

“I’m _broken_!” The words flew out of my mouth before I could catch them. “I’m broken, Benson. You don’t deserve someone who is broken. And it’s okay. I understand.”

Benson cupped my cheeks in his hands. “You are _not_ broken.”

I pushed his hands away and held out my arms. The cuts were still fresh, the edges rimmed with red and slightly raised. My palms were covered in tiny marks from my nails. The bruises stood out dark against my stark white skin and my heart raced at the memory of how they got there.

“Look at my arms and tell me I’m not broken,” I said, my voice suddenly taking on a new calm. “Look at the bruises and the cuts and the scars and _tell me_ I am not _damaged_.”

I watched as he flinched, and I realized he knew I was right. I waited for him to agree, to admit I was right, to admit this was too much and take me home and delete my number and never talk to me again.

But instead, he shook his head. He leaned down and tenderly kissed the cuts, covering them with his hand as his green eyes looked into mine.

“You are broken,” He whispered, his voice low enough so only we would hear. I felt my stomach drop as he spoke the words out loud. But then he continued. “But just because you are broken does not mean you are not worth fixing.”

“What if I can’t be fixed?”

Benson smiled. “Even broken things can be beautiful.”

I sobbed again, pulling my hand out of his grip and wrapping my arms around myself. “You don’t understand…”

“No, I don’t. But that’s okay. When you are ready to help me understand, I will be here. I am not going anywhere.”

“Benson…” My voice cracked. “You don’t…you…”

“What about me?” He asked.

“Just… _you_! You are amazing and smart and you are going to _be somebody_! You are going to be a doctor and you are going to save lives!” I wailed, my body shaking as I leaned against the truck, trying to prevent my shaking legs from buckling. “You deserve to have someone who is just as amazing.”

“You _are_ amazing…”

“No.” I shook my head. “I am nothing. I will _always_ be _nothing_. Don’t you understand? I will _never_ be enough for you.”

“Oh my God…” Benson closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose.

He finally understood.

I sobbed harder.

“Oh, my love…” Benson surrounded me, enveloping me in his arms. I was surrounded by his scent and I wanted to remember it forever. I wanted to live in this moment forever, so maybe, I would never have to let go.

 “Loghan…” He spoke quietly, his lips tickling my ear. “You are _not_ nothing… you are somebody, an _amazing_ somebody, and most importantly… you are my _everything_.”

I collapsed into him, my arms wrapping around his neck. He held me tight, his face pressed into the groove of my neck and I felt something wet on my skin.

He was crying too.

I realize that maybe I wouldn’t have to say goodbye, at least not yet. But one day, he was going to find out exactly where the bruises came from. He would want answers to his questions, and I was not sure how I would tell him the truth. He could not even fathom how broken I truly was, but for now, that didn’t matter.

For now, I was content just being in his arms. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments bring me joy ♥


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